


The Last Supper

by NightComesSwiftly



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:20:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1566086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightComesSwiftly/pseuds/NightComesSwiftly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short hannigram poem, not entirely sure where it came from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Supper

Oh, I remember once a dream of you,  
Implanted in the circuits of my head,  
Of dead men, girls with faces cold and blue  
Who, sitting, formed a banquet of the dead.

And since it's known that dreams speak dark and true,  
I found my sleeping mind awake with dread.  
I watched the corpses eat, awaiting you.  
From masticating mouths no words were said.

'Twas then I heard the clinking of a glass,  
Struck softly by the knife within your hand,  
You smoothed the tablecloth, the hue of grass,  
And all went silent then to watch you stand.

You smiled with your lips as cold as snow.  
You raised your brimming glass to meet my eye,  
And with that glance I knew you knew I know,  
And it multiplies the days when I could die.

Instead, you left your place to find the door.  
The corpses watched in silence as I rose.  
In terror, but entranced, I crossed the floor,  
And we crossed the threshold as the doors slammed closed.

This bedroom is the place we burn to go,  
It's sheets like dying flame, a crimson red.  
I, sighing, kissed the breath from lips like snow,  
Before we laughed and tumbled into bed.


End file.
